


Southern Comfort

by Zasa



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Dutch/Annabelle mentioned, Hosea/Dutch is only hinted at, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-23 14:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18152864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zasa/pseuds/Zasa
Summary: Pre-canon. Arthur must take Hosea’s place when Dutch drinks his feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t the first time Dutch was a dangerous combination of sad and drunk, but it was the first time he’d gotten that way when Hosea was away. Away on business, he claimed, but everyone knew it was an excuse to see Bessie. He’d been keeping her out of his mouth since his and Dutch’s last explosive argument. There was little Dutch feared, but the loss of all this - all this freedom and companionship they’d carved out for themselves - was enough to drive him to drink. And when he drank his fear exploded into something larger, something that threatened to swallow him alive unless he kept the bottle to his lips and drank until nothing but blackness greeted him.

When drunk, he also thought too long and too hard about Annabelle. Her soft hair. Soft skin. Her warmth and her smell. Her ringing laugh. Her hands as they used to slip into Dutch’s. Her legs wrapping around his back. The heat between her legs. How he could get drunk in that feeling alone, deep inside her. 

He wasn’t sure that he loved her, but it was the closest he had come to loving a woman the way Hosea seemed to love Bessie.

He retreated to his tent, pants straining at the crotch, hating and missing the man.

*

Arthur couldn’t tell John to get lost anymore. Dutch and Hosea had filled the boy’s head too full of praises for him to successfully sort through the empty encouragement and find logic. It didn’t matter how right Arthur was, and it didn’t help that Dutch and Hosea had begun to ignore Arthur, no matter what he did or how much money he brought in. It was all about the golden boy. And apparently the golden boy could not be commanded by old-news Arthur. 

“Dutch is drinkin’ again,” Arthur hissed at John, shoving him toward the edge of camp. “And Hosea ain’t here to calm him down.”

“So?” John shoved him back, harder. “Ain’t no reason to be sendin’ me off.”

It was plenty good reason, because while John had avoided seeing Dutch at his most vulnerable, Arthur hadn’t been so lucky. He’d walked into Dutch’s tent a couple times while the man was drunkenly slunk against Hosea, silently weeping into his shoulder. It had hurt and confused him, those feeling multiplying when Hosea shouted at him to get out.

Arthur assumed Hosea had done it for the same reason he himself was doing it to John - it was too personal, seeing their leader cry.

“Fine, just...stay out here and keep watch,” Arthur said. “Please.”

A crooked grin broke across John’s face. “Arthur, are you beggin’ me?” 

“I’m askin’ you, and I ain’t afraid to kick your ass if you refuse.”

“I don’t think that counts as askin’.”

Arthur rubbed at the back of his neck where a headache was beginning to from. “Goddamn it, John. Let me just get him to sleep and then you can do whatever you want, okay?”

“And how long’s that gonna take?”

Arthur didn’t have an answer, turning back toward camp and the flicker of the fire where he’d last seen Dutch, three bottles deep. “I’ll come get you, okay?” Arthur didn’t wait for his reply, simply dragging himself up the steep incline, bracing himself for the fight that would surely ensue. Dutch was even more stubborn than John, a near impossible feat. But without Hosea to get him into bed, it fell on Arthur. 

Dutch was gone, glass bottles glittering in the grass where his chair still sat. A spike of fear knocked the breath out of him, but looking back, he noticed Dutch’s old horse still tied to its usual tree. He hadn’t run off. And what if he had? What was the worst thing that could happen? He wasn’t sure, but there had to be a reason Hosea didn’t leave drunken Dutch alone until he was asleep.

Arthur peered into Dutch’s tent, pulling the flap back just enough to let the firelight illuminate the dirt floor. Arthur jumped when he met Dutch’s eyes. 

“Arthur.” He sat up on his cot, arms wobbling.

“Sorry, Dutch. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, Arthur. You’re so kind to me,” he slurred.

“.../are/ you okay?”

Instead of answering, Dutch said, “come in.”

Arthur did, the flap fluttering closed at his back, darkness swallowing his sight until his eyes slowly adjusted. A thin slat of firelight danced a stripe across Dutch’s cot. Arthur saw his outstretched hand and took it, felt himself drop onto the cot next to Dutch.

“I’m so sorry you gotta see me like this. So sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur said, releasing Dutch’s hand. 

Dutch kept hold. “Where’s John?”

“Keeping watch.”

“Here? We’re safe here, Arthur, as safe as people like us can be.”

“I thought...maybe you needed to talk or somethin’.”

“Or somethin’?” he repeated, softly, almost as if to himself. “So kind. You’ve grown up into a great man.”

Arthur felt heat rise to his face. As much as he longed for Dutch’s praises, it was never easy to take them. “Thanks, Dutch.”

“So brave. So smart.” Dutch’s breath grazed his ear. “So strong.”

Arthur had frozen, another surge of heat diving into his stomach. Dutch’s hand trailed up his forearm, the pads of his fingers surprisingly soft. He squeezed his bicep.

“So handsome.”

“You’re more wasted than I thought.”

Something brushed along Arthur’s jaw, stopping just below his ear. Even before he realized what was happening, he felt the tingle of arousal in his groin. Arthur snagged his bottom lip in his teeth to keep noises at bay, but he couldn’t keep himself from leaning into the sensation of Dutch’s lips dotting his jaw with light kisses.

Dutch laughed one of his deep, growling laughs, and Arthur snapped to his senses, pulling away. Cold shame dug into his heart. His thoughts had traveled where he never wanted them to, and now Dutch knew. 

“You want me, son?” Dutch whispered, hand curling into the hair at the back of Arthur’s head.

“I...”

“Because I want you.”

Arthur’s head snapped to look at him, but he still couldn’t quite see anything definitive except Dutch’s silhouette filling the space Arthur had left, drawing closer until Dutch’s body heat surrounded him. 

“You can tell me the truth,” Dutch said. “You can always tell me the truth. Do you want me?” His lips were back, grazing Arthur’s neck, planting themselves only once, just beside Arthur’s jugular. It drew a whine from Arthur’s throat.

“Yes,” Arthur croaked, reaching up, feeling Dutch’s back muscles contract under his shirt. “I want you.”

Dutch gripped Arthur’s shirt. Tugged. Where buttons didn’t pop, the fabric ripped, cold air whipping across Arthur’s bare chest only to be warmed by Dutch’s wandering hands. Dutch finally let his lips press fully into Arthur’s skin, into his neck and up his jaw, sinking against his ear before starting all over again at his collar bone. Arthur was suddenly too hot to think. It felt like he was burning alive. 

Dutch bit down and Arthur groaned, regretting it before it was even over. He slapped a hand over his mouth. He was never this noisy. Hardly ever made a sound, even at climax, and they hadn’t even done anything yet.

But Arthur was drowning in love and adoration. The man he looked up to, loved more than anyone and anything, was holding him, kissing him, loving him back. Arthur touched Dutch until he felt the hard line of his jaw, clasped it, and brought Dutch’s lips to his own. It felt like swallowing an explosion. It felt like dying and coming back to life. It felt like he was kissing one of the most dangerous outlaws in the west. It felt right.

Arthur parted his lips and Dutch got the hint, invading Arthur with his tongue, filling his mouth. Dutch’s hand dropped to Arthur’s thigh. Squeezed. Arthur moaned into Dutch, hearing how close he was to sobbing in relief. Dutch leaned into him, pushing him on his back. Arthur felt the hard line of Dutch’s cock against his other leg, bucked against Dutch’s stomach, harder than he’d ever been in his life, he was sure.

Dutch jerked back, gasping for a breath. The firelight touched the side of his face and Arthur caught his eyes widening. Caught the terror. The realization. 

“Shit,” Dutch blurted, seeming to sober up as the words came. “Arthur I—I’m—I shouldn’t have...”

Arthur’s heart sank. Shame returned. The terror that he saw in Dutch roiled through him. A mistake. He was just another mistake. He rutted up into Dutch’s stomach again, desperate. Dutch let him, so Arthur did it again, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck and pulling him into another kiss, this one stiff. Empty.

“Dutch,” Arthur begged, rutting harder. “Please don’t stop now.”

“You...?”

“Yes!” Arthur answered, not even sure what Dutch had meant to ask, but dying to feel Dutch’s skin against his. Dying for his affection in a way he never knew he could have. Now that it was in sight, he couldn’t let it go, even knowing he would regret it later. “I meant it when I said it and I mean it now. I want you.” 

Dutch glanced toward the gap in the tent, pupils shrinking against the light, but the firmness digging into Arthur’s leg remained. “We shouldn’t.”

“Why?” Arthur whispered.

Dutch looked at him again, face falling into shadow. “Because you’re...I...This might change things.”

“Then let’s worry about that tomorrow.”

“I don’t know what I want. What this will mean tomorrow. I’m not sure I can forgive myself if I do this.”

“Dutch,” Arthur gasped, driving into Dutch’s stomach like some pubescent teenager, muscles clenching, balls squeezing. He was going to cum just like that. “We can pretend it never happened if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t know either, but I’m willing to accept whatever happens. Just fucking touch me for fucks sake.”

That did something. Arthur wasn’t sure what or why, but suddenly Dutch was kissing him like he meant it, the explosion of sensations ripping through Arthur’s body. He held a scream in his throat as Dutch palmed his prick through his pants, rough and frantic and as desperate as Arthur felt.

Arthur wormed his arms between their bodies, tugging at Dutch’s belt until Dutch pulled back long enough to rip his belt off and toss it to the ground. He yanked the shirt off his shoulders next, Arthur pawing at all the deep lines of muscle that he had always admired but never got to touch. Then Dutch shoved his pants to his knees and Arthur’s breath caught, unable to see it, but feeling it glide against his bare belly, a wet trail slicking him in its wake. Dutch moaned into Arthur’s ear, Arthur pulling his own cock free, knuckles dragging across Dutch’s. The skin felt so soft. So warm. He wanted it in his mouth but Dutch was already pressing his weight back down, their cocks sliding together. Arthur dropped his head back, toes curling, determined not to cum. It felt so good, like if he didn’t get release he’d die. But he didn’t want it to end, didn’t want to forget the feel of Dutch thrusting on top of him, against him, muttering his name.

“Dutch,” Arthur gasped. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Dutch groaned, loud enough to worry Arthur had he been in his right mind. John might hear. The law all the way in the closest city might hear if the pressure building in Arthur’s chest came loose. 

Arthur wrapped his legs around Dutch’s waist, gripping the cot as it croaked. “Fuck, Dutch, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Dutch groaned, even louder, his teeth sinking into Arthur’s throat as he said. “Cum then.”

A shock ran down his spine and to his cock. He couldn’t stop himself, not with the words ringing in his head - Dutch telling him to cum. Orgasm shot through him, muscles clenching all the way down his legs, waves of pleasure knocking the breath from his lungs, dragging a moan out of his mouth that Dutch stopped with his mouth. White flashed behind Arthur’s eyes, feeling cum shoot across his stomach.

Dutch’s thrusts grew faster, driving Arthur to nearly scream at the overstimulation, at the heat and pleasure and stars it brought. Then Dutch was twitching, shooting cum up to Arthur’s chin, a long, low groan slipping from his lips as he spoke a name.

“Annabelle.”

Arthur went still. Dutch met his eyes, freezing right along with him, even as the last few bursts of Dutch’s orgasm shot out between their heaving stomachs. Arthur’s heart sank. Stomach twisted. 

“Arthur,” Dutch began, but Arthur stopped him by squirming out from beneath him, spilling onto the ground. 

“S’Okay,” Arthur muttered, trying to convince himself that it /was/ okay, but he wasn’t sure that was true. He had asked for it. Wanted it. Demanded it. And now he felt used.

“Arthur, I—”

“It’s okay!” But he had screamed it, hands shaking as he pulled his clothes on without cleaning himself first. He ran out of the tent before he had his shirt buttoned, remembering only after that the buttons were gone anyway. He went to his horse, untied her, hopped on, hearing Dutch call for him but refusing to look back. He couldn’t look him in the eyes after that. Couldn’t even stand the thought. 

He spurred his horse and charged past John, trying to tell him that he could go back to camp but unable to speak around the knot in his throat. He waved instead.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur stopped at the creek they usually bathed in, sticking close to the road this time, desperate to wash the shame and spend off him, desperate to get it out of sight and out of mind. But his mind kept running. Kept screaming his insecurities. Dutch hadn’t wanted him. He’d just wanted release. He’d thought about Annabelle the whole time, and Arthur couldn’t even blame him. He only blamed himself, for thinking that anyone would ever want him without a catch.

“Arthur?”

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, half naked and knee-deep in the water, and he wasn’t sure how long Hosea had been standing there on the road. Long enough, it seemed, for his horse to grow restless. It kept lurching toward the direction of camp.

“What’s going on? You okay, son?”

Arthur nodded, afraid to open his mouth.

“You sure?”

He nodded again, re-washing his stomach, afraid the glint of moonlight would reveal a streak of cum he had missed. The only thing that would make all this worse was if Hosea found out what he’d done.

Hosea started to dismount, but Arthur spoke to stop him, ignoring the wobble in the words. “I’m fine, Hosea. Promise.”

“You’re not acting fine.”

Arthur shrugged, clawing back to the bank. “Dutch is drunk,” he said, trying to draw Hosea’s attention elsewhere. “I tried to get him to sleep but I just can’t do what you do apparently?”

Hosea went so still that it drew Arthur’s eyes. “You...did he...?”

Arthur waited for him to finish, but Hosea gave up, taking energy instead to study Arthur’s ripped shirt. His neck. Arthur shrank back, unsure if he had hickeys. But something in Hosea’s glare knocked his panic back into high-gear.

“Hosea?”

Hosea’s grip on his reins tightened. His jaw clenched until he spoke with a gentleness so unlike his expression. “What did you do? For Dutch?”

“Just...tried to get him to go to bed. Like you do.”

“Like I do.”

“Yeah.”

Arthur could see the flare of white around Hosea’s bloodless knuckles. Hosea eased his grip when he noticed Arthur looking, said, “okay, well. I’m heading back to camp.”

“Okay.”

“You coming?”

“Uh...yeah. In a minute.”

“Take your time.”

Before Arthur could acknowledge him, ask him why, Hosea kicked his horse into a gallop. 

*

Dutch had retreated from his tent long enough to grab another bottle of whatever liquor they had lying around. John’s wary voice has spoken through the canvas once he’d returned, asking what had happened. Dutch said nothing, even fearing that not giving John an answer would make the boy step into his tent and see him shirtless and slick with Arthur’s cum. He chugged whiskey, relieved when John’s shadow moved away.

But not longer after, he heard the thundering of hooves. Arthur had come back. Dutch could explain everything. Could kiss him again. Could love him they way he had intended. He was so used to imagining Annabelle that he’d let his mind wander even with Arthur finally beneath him. Finally he had let his ugly desires to the surface, and Arthur had accepted them. And then Dutch fucked it up by reverting to old habits.

He stood, pulling his tent flaps aside to wave Arthur toward him. 

But it was Hosea.

He was storming to Dutch’s tent, ignoring John’s greeting and following inquiry. Dutch jerked back, scrambling to get his shirt off the floor and on his shoulders. He should have cleaned himself. Should have dressed. He was too drunk and too heartbroken to think.

Hosea threw the canvas back, his silhouette filling Dutch’s doorway. 

Dutch froze under the invisible glare. “...How’d your job go?’

“Dutch Van Der Linde, I could kill you right now and it wouldn’t even phase me.”

“Wh—“ the words caught, Hosea grabbing Dutch by the throat and shoving him. Dutch crashed against his bookshelf, a hardback knocking him on the head before thudding to the ground. 

“He’s our /son/. He’s...” Hosea dropped his voice. “You promised me.”

“I know.”

“You said you wouldn’t act on those feelings. Not with him. Never with him. We’re supposed to protect him. Keep him safe. He’s not for you to /use/!”

“I know!” Dutch growled.

“You don’t know! Because you used him anyway!”

“I wasn’t thinking straight—”

“He’s off limits. I told you I’d do whatever you needed from me, and I have. If you needed something, you knew you could have waited until I got back. But you didn’t. You’re going to screw with his head!”

Dutch surged to his feet, catching John’s shadow on the other side of his tent. “He’s almost thirty!”

“He’s still our son!”

“...not really.”

Hosea slapped him. Slapped him hard enough to leave a mark, but not as hard as he could have. Dutch thought it more of an insult that he was holding back. “You called him that first!”

“Hit me again, Hosea. Hit me like you mean it so I don’t feel so bad when I ring your goddamn neck.”


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur heard the shouting even before he saw the glow of the campfire. He kicked his horse faster, no longer dreading returning to camp but needing to. He had fucked up. He had done things with Dutch. And now Hosea knew if the volume of his voice was any indication. It would be Arthur’s doing if their family broke apart.

He rode up into camp farther than normal, dismounting and abandoning his horse when John spun toward him with a look that he rarely wore. Terror. 

He met Arthur halfway. “They’re fightin’ about you. You have to stop ‘em.”

“I will.”

“Hurry.”

So Arthur did. He ran into Dutch’s tent without asking, a sin almost as bad as cumming with your mentor, and found Hosea and Dutch on the ground. Dutch had his arm around Hosea’s neck. Hosea was driving his elbow into Dutch’s ribs.

“Stop it, you old fools!” Arthur shouted, tugging them apart as soon as Dutch’s grip went slack, which it did as soon as he realized Arthur was back in his tent. “What the hell’s goin’ on? You two are better than this!”

Hosea spat blood into the dirt by Dutch’s cot. “/He’s/ better than this. Or at least I thought he was. For Christ’s sake, Dutch, you got no self control anymore. You just gonna start shooting whoever you feel like shooting too?”

Arthur threw his arm in front of Hosea, realizing the man was going back for Dutch, but the attempted shout of his name died when Arthur realized what Hosea meant. He definitely knew. Arthur shivered, feeling afraid of Hosea for the first time since he was an unruly kid.

“Shut your mouth, Hosea,” Dutch hissed, climbing to his feet, getting in Hosea’s face and crushing Arthur’s arm between them. “Stop acting like you know what goes on around here. You’re so far up Bessie’s ass you can’t see what’s two feet in front of you!”

“I see your ugly mug just fine!”

“Stop!” Arthur shouted, the scream ripping through his throat like a blade. He had to gasp for a breath, taking advantage of Hosea and Dutch’s surprise by shunting himself between them. 

“Hosea, it was my choice.” That cut like a blade too, admitting it, but Arthur couldn’t stop now. He had to save what little he had left in the world. “He wanted to stop and I begged him to keep going.”

Hosea’s eyes flicked between Arthur and Dutch, his voice coming out strained. “You...?’

“I wanted it. I’m sorry.”

Hosea shook his head, expression slack. He sat on the edge of Dutch’s cot, looking older than normal in the slat of firelight. “You...wanted—”

“Yes,” Arthur said, unsure if he could handle hearing Hosea say it aloud. “I wanted...him.”

Hosea shook his head again, looking toward Dutch as if he couldn’t believe what Arthur was saying. As if they had failed by letting him get this way, seeking company of not just men but of Dutch.

Arthur risked a glance at Dutch, unable to make out the emotions storming through his eyes. He looked back at Hosea, sick to his stomach. “So stop fightin’. Both of you. It’s me you should be mad at, and if you want me to go, I understand.”

“Arthur—” Dutch began.

“I don’t want you goin’ anywhere, son,” Hosea said, softly. “I just...I just want...” He looked at Dutch. “I want you to be careful.”

Arthur nodded, even without understanding, but he knew he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Dutch’s heart was still with Annabelle. And Arthur had done enough chasing. 

“I need to talk to Arthur.” Dutch said. “Alone.” Hosea shot him a warning glance, but Dutch followed it up by saying, “please. Hosea. It’s important.”

Hosea sighed, pushed himself to his feet. He got in Dutch’s face again, but with a slowness Arthur didn’t assume to be a threat. “Be careful with our boy,” Hosea said. “If you hurt him, I’ll hurt you.” He turned without another word, and for once, Dutch said nothing in reply.

Dutch slunk onto the cot, hesitating before taking Arthur’s hand in his. “Will you sit for a moment?”

Arthur sat down beside him, hating how much he loved the feel of Dutch’s hand in his, hating how his heart leapt when Dutch didn’t pull his away.

“I’m sorry,” Dutch said. “For everything. I need you to know that.”

“Me too.”

“No,” Dutch said suddenly. “You have nothing to apologize for. It was my mistake, thinking of her. It was brief. Just a memory. And I hate myself for letting it distract me from you.”

Arthur shivered, unsure why, unaware that he was leaning into Dutch’s shoulder until Dutch released his hand to wrap an arm around his back. Arthur melted into the hug.

“I meant all the things I said. You’re wonderful, Arthur. Sometimes I wonder how someone as good and good-looking as you can exist.”

Arthur scoffed. “You’re still drunk.”

“Yeah. But I promise you I’ll think those things even when I’m dead sober.” Dutch brushed the hair off Arthur’s forehead. “And I promise, whatever happens now, all I want is for you to be happy. We can pretend this never happened. Never speak of it again. You can think on it, if you’d like. Or you can sleep in here tonight.”

Arthur looked up, shocked by the spike of heat that shot down his spine and between his legs. Arthur leaned in, just an inch, breathing in the smell of whiskey on Dutch’s breath. Arthur rubbed a circle on Dutch’s chin. “If you really want me, you better prove it.”

Dutch grinned, brought their lips together, and mumbled against them, “I guarantee you’ll know by morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find be on Twitter @nutmegalodon :)


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